


Salty, Spicy, Sweet

by MathClassWarfare



Series: We’ve Got Plenty of Time [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cooking, Established Relationship, Fluff, Headcanon, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Older Noctis Lucis Caelum, Older Prompto Argentum, Older Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum, POV Prompto Argentum, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 06:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare
Summary: Prompto learns to cook, and he gets to see a new side of his best friend.





	Salty, Spicy, Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in my post-game headcanon where Noctis comes back from the dead, as detailed [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589980) and the rest of the fics in this series.
> 
> It also references something that happens in my Altissia fic, which is [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18556894)

Prompto stares at last night’s pile of plastic containers in the sink and sighs. “Man, look at all this garbage.”

“At least we’re re-using it,” Noctis offers, looking up from the newspaper.

“Yeah, but . . .” He opens a cabinet, and gestures at its near-overflowing contents. “Not really.”

Noctis shrugs and returns to his reading. He holds up the politics section, featuring a big full-color photo of Ignis in his office at the Citadel. “Nice shot!”

“Thanks.”

Prompto decides to ignore the dishes for now and pours himself a cup of coffee. He thinks about how Ignis isn’t an environment-destroying hypocrite who’s jump-starting the market for take-out containers. 

Taking a seat at the table, he says, “Maybe I should learn to cook.”

Noctis makes an alarming noise, but doesn’t spit out his coffee. Umbra lifts his head to take a brief look at the humans before relaxing back into his sunny spot on the floor.

“What?!” Prompto demands.

“Nothing!” Noctis laughs. “What?”

“You don’t think I can learn?”

“I didn’t say that,” Noctis soothes, grabbing Prompto’s hand. He runs his thumb gently over an old scar. “You can do anything you want.”

“But?” Prompto teases, leaning forward.

“But . . . why?”

“It’s like. I never bothered, growing up. I mostly just ate like, instant noodles. Or salad in a bag. Curry from a bag. Stuff like that.”

“Nothin’ wrong with cup noodles, man.”

“No! There isn’t, but I like to eat other stuff too. And I feel bad about all the packaging. You know they’re re-opening that plastics factory in Cleigne?”

“Yeah, I read that. I guess that means more jobs, right?” 

“True.” Prompto tilts his head one way, then the other. “But it’s bad for Eos. We just got through the last apocalypse.” _Thanks to you_, is what he doesn’t say (because that never goes over well). He squeezes Noctis’s hand and says, “We don’t need another one.” 

“You think we’re destroying the world with too much take-out?”

“I mean. It doesn’t _help_.” Prompto looks over the top of his mug and takes a sip.

“Okay . . . what do you wanna cook, then?”

He thinks for a moment, then says, “I want to be able to make different kinds of salads. And soup.”

“Oh shit—_soup_?” Noctis teases. “Sounds complicated.”

“Shut up! I’m trying to set realistic goals!”

Noctis leans across the table to kiss him. Then he says, “I’m sure Ignis can show you how to make that stuff.”

“_Nuh uh_.” Prompto shakes his head. “I’m not gonna bother Ignis with this. He has much better things to do. I can figure it out with the power of the internets.”

“Okay, then.” Noctis slouches back into his chair and re-opens the paper. “Good luck.”

⁂

You could almost say it’s crowded at the Saturday farmer’s market. Dozens of people are milling around food trucks and produce stands, clustered in a plaza surrounded by government buildings. Prompto recognizes one of the farmers from Lestallum and waves. He wishes he could remember the guy’s name. If he did, he’d go over there and say hello.

There are so many different kinds of vegetables and fruits stacked prettily in wooden crates. There’s also houseplants and flowers, a baker selling loaves of bread and pastries, and somebody selling cheese and eggs out of coolers. He has no idea where to start.

Glancing back at Noctis while they walk, he asks, “So. What should we get?”

Noctis wraps an arm around him, rests his chin on his shoulder, and points across the plaza at a food truck. 

“Tacos.”

“_Oh_. Oh you’re right.”

After they eat their fill of delicious—and cheap—garula asada tacos, Prompto drags Noctis back to the produce stands. He’s starting to feel overwhelmed (who even knew there were this many different kinds of mushrooms?) when Noctis taps his arm. He turns to see Ignis approaching, trailed by an intimidating Crownsguard officer he hasn’t seen before. Maybe she’s new. 

Thankfully, the officer hangs back a good distance. Noctis is wearing sunglasses and a hat, and if she does recognize him, she’d probably know him as Ignis’s sometimes-driver, Nemo.

“Hey, it’s that guy from the paper!” Noctis calls out.

“Hey Ignis!” Prompto pats his friend on the shoulder as soon as he’s close enough.

“Good afternoon.” Ignis looks pleasantly surprised and only slightly confused about running into them here. “How are you both?”

“Great. I’m just thrilled to be shopping for vegetables,” Noctis responds.

“Hey!” Prompto frowns. “I said you didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”

Noctis kisses his cheek, and he stops frowning.

Ignis asks, “What are you shopping for, Prompto?”

“Um. I’m not exactly sure yet?”

“Well it’s good to keep an open mind, but making a list will save you a lot of time.” 

“Welcome, Mr. Scientia,” the farmer at the mushroom stand calls out as she makes her way to the corner of her booth where Ignis is standing. “How are you today?”

“Hello, Dana. I’m quite well, how are you?”

“Just fine. Perfect weather today.”

“Indeed it is.” Ignis smiles. “I’m afraid I have a bit of a list. Is it alright if I just show it to you?” 

“Of course.”

He takes out his phone and uses a voice command to pull up the notes app. Then he hands it to the farmer. Passing the phone back after reading, she says, “We don’t have trumpet vesprooms today, but I do have some nice chanterelles.” 

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

She places a series of mushrooms into Ignis’s hands, providing a brief explanation of each. He rolls each variety between his fingers and gives it a sniff, before nodding to the farmer. “I’ll take 6 ounces of each, please.”

While she weighs and bags his purchase, Ignis turns to Prompto and asks, “Are you going to be doing some cooking?” 

“Yeah! I’m trying to learn. I was thinking about making a salad, but I figured I should see what vegetables are here before I decide anything.”

“That’s a good idea. I also like to choose recipes based on what’s in season.”

“Oh right! That makes sense.” Prompto hasn’t even started to think about seasonal cooking.

“If you ever have any questions, let me know. I’m happy to give you some tips.”

Prompto knows Ignis is just being polite, and he certainly has no plans to take him up on the offer, but he says, “Thanks Iggy! Will do.” 

He avoids looking at Noctis by picking up a mushroom that looks sort of familiar, and makes eye contact with a kid working at the stand so he can buy some.

After finishing their mushroom business, they follow Ignis around the market for the next hour. He obviously knows where to get the best stuff. Prompto fills up their shopping bag with produce (no carrots), farm-fresh eggs, and a beautiful loaf of bread. Noctis picks out a bouquet of bright and varied flowers. 

As the friends part ways, Ignis asks, “I’ll see you both tomorrow for dinner, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course!”

“Good. Remind me to give you some recipes.”

“Uh—okay!” Prompto shifts uneasily.

“Nothing overly complicated. Don’t worry.”

As Ignis and his security detail walk out of view, Noctis gives Prompto a raised-eyebrow look that says, ‘told you so.’

This is exactly what he was hoping to avoid. He knew Ignis would probably offer to help him, but he’s the fucking Minister of fucking Internal Affairs for the whole country. He has much better things to do than answer Prompto’s dumb questions about vegetables.

Thankfully, Noctis doesn’t push the subject. Instead, he sticks his nose in the bouquet. With a small smile, he says, “Flowers are nice.”

“Yeah.” Prompto leans into his side, to get a whiff of the sweet, bright fragrance. “They really are.”

⁂

They return home to a flurry of offended barks from Umbra. Prompto crouches down to scratch him around the neck and tries to explain that they don’t allow dogs at the farmer’s market. He says Umbra should blame Ignis, not them—or maybe blame the naughty dogs who ruin it for everybody else.

He wonders, not for the first time, if Umbra can understand what they’re saying, since he used to be a divine messenger and all. Noctis has said he probably can. Prompto figures he’s forgiven when Umbra licks his face. 

Noctis takes the dog outside while Prompto gets started on dinner. He’s decided to make grilled cheese, which he’s made tons of times before, and a salad. While they were at the market, Ignis convinced him he could put berries in salad. He’s also got a cucumber, mixed spring greens, and some nuts they already had in the cupboard. 

By the time he has everything washed and set out on the counter, the rest of his little family are back from their walk. Noctis plops down in a chair at the table to re-arrange his flowers, and Umbra takes a long drink from his bowl. 

Just as Prompto starts chopping the cucumber, Noctis interrupts him.

“There’s an easier way to do that.” 

He steps into the kitchen and takes the knife. “Keep your knife in one place—part of it should always be touching the cutting board.” Noctis demonstrates, rocking the knife up and down, rather than raising it off the surface and lowering it again, like Prompto had been doing. “Then you move the thing you’re chopping toward the knife.” He cuts a few thin slices of cucumber to demonstrate. 

“_Ohhhh_. That makes sense! Thanks, Noct!” Prompto takes the knife back and gives it a try. It’s much easier, but his slices don’t look as nice as the ones Noctis did.

“Hey, where’d you learn how to chop so good?”

Noctis laughs, moving to the living room to sprawl out on the couch. Umbra hops up to join him, nuzzling into the space between his feet. “I worked in a restaurant, remember?”

“I guess I didn’t realize that they had you cooking.”

“Yeah, I helped with prep. Plus, Specs taught me some stuff over the years.” He yawns and closes his eyes.

“Oh. Of course.” Prompto turns his attention back to the cucumber. He wonders how it is that he’s been best friends with Noctis for half his life and had no idea he could cook.

The salad ends up looking pretty legit. Prompto even makes a lemon vinaigrette dressing from a recipe he found online. He puts the salad bowl on top of the microwave that sits on their table, so he has space on the counter to make the grilled cheese.

Once everything is done, and the little formica table is crowded with plates and cutlery and reusable napkins and glasses of water, he calls out across the apartment, “Wake up! Time to eat!”

Noctis makes a series of indecipherable sleepy noises before muttering, “I can’t get up. There’s a dog.” 

“Umbra! C’mere!” Prompto peels a melty clump of cheese off the stovetop as the dog comes running. He tosses the cheese and Umbra catches it in the air.

“Nice,” Prompto declares. “Good boy!”

Noctis shuffles to his seat and Prompto is disappointed, but not very surprised, to see that he doesn’t take any salad.

“You don’t want any? There’s no carrots.”

“_Nah_, I’m good with this. Thanks for cooking.” Noctis bites into his sandwich.

“You won’t even try it? I thought you loved me!” Prompto pouts.

Noctis stares at him while he finishes chewing, then he says, “Hey. I thought _you_ loved _me_. Why are you trying to make me eat salad?” 

That’s fair, probably. 

“I just don’t want you to get scurvy, that’s all.” Prompto shoves a forkful of greens into his mouth. The dressing is pretty alright.

“Good point.” 

Noctis goes over to the cutting board, where Prompto left the other half of the lemon from his dressing. He returns with a wedge for his water. 

“There. I’m safe.” He takes a sip, smiling into his glass.

All Prompto can do is shake his head and laugh.

⁂

They arrive for Sunday dinner before Gladio does, and Ignis is still busy in the kitchen. Prompto offers to help but Ignis declines and asks Noctis to find his box of recipe cards on the shelf.

It’s a small, wooden box flecked with oil spots and packed full with paper index cards in plastic sleeves. Prompto and Noctis sit at the kitchen island so they can talk with Ignis while he stirs a sizzling pan of meat and onions. It smells amazing.

“That green curry recipe you like is in there, it’s actually quite simple, and there’s a brownie recipe that Noctis always seemed to enjoy—Kiri’s brownie’s.”

Prompto finds the recipes easily—they’re in alphabetical order, of course. 

The curry recipe is intimidating because it’s actually two: one for the curry paste, and one for the actual dish. 

“I don’t know if I can make this, Iggy. I don’t have a food processor.” 

“I’ve left one for you by the door. I recently upgraded.”

“What?! No! I can’t.” Prompto protests, and Noctis kicks him lightly.

“He just said he got a new one, dude. We’re doing him a favor taking it out of here.”

“Well . . . okay. Thank you!” Prompto beams. He’s never been the owner of a high-end kitchen appliance before. It’s kind of exciting.

“You’re very welcome.”

He finds the brownie recipe and squints at it for a moment. “Uh . . . Iggy? Are these . . . pot brownies?” 

“What?!” Noctis snorts, grabbing the card.

“No, they most certainly are not. I may have turned a blind eye to Noct’s habits, but I never actively encouraged them.” 

“There was _spinach_ in these brownies?!” Noctis slams the card onto the counter. “All that time?!”

“Yes.” A tiny smile flickers across Ignis’s face.

Prompto loses it. “That—that’s fucking genius,” he gasps through the hysterics, barely managing to stay on his stool when Noctis shoves him.

Ignis shrugs. “King Regis had asked me to make sure his son was eating a balanced diet, and I learned from a friend that spinach is easy to hide in so many things.”

“Was that . . . Kiri?” Prompto asks, composing himself and picking up the card.

“Yes, a co-worker of my uncle’s. They shared that little trick with me after a tense hallway conversation with his Majesty.”

Noctis buries his face in his arms and groans. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t your job and my dad shouldn’t have put that on you.”

“Nothing to apologize for on his behalf.” Ignis throws a pinch of salt into the pan and gives it a shake. “I, too, wanted you to survive into adulthood.” 

“Well. Here I am. Despite all odds.” Noctis turns to look up at Prompto. “Please don’t make spinach brownies.”

He won’t, probably. But when he leans over to kiss Noctis on the top of the head, he says, “I make no promises.”

⁂

“_Shit! Shitshitshit!_” Prompto leaps back from the flaming pan, nearly tripping over Umbra as the dog tears across the apartment to cower behind a plant.

Noctis shouts, “Lid!” and Prompto snuffs out the small fire, berating himself for not thinking of that immediately.

The disaster is over as quickly as it started. The smoke detector didn’t even go off, which is concerning, actually. 

“You okay?” Noctis wraps him in a hug, and Prompto nods into his shoulder. His heart is racing—he could have burnt down their entire building. 

“Next time, let the pan dry out before you put oil and stuff in there, okay?” 

“Uh _huh_.” He’s not going to forget that advice any time soon. 

Noctis pulls away to check on Umbra, who’s eying them warily from across the room. He coaxes the dog out from the corner with a belly rub.

Looking up again, he asks, “Still feel like cooking? Or—”

Prompto feels defeated. Despite the flood of adrenaline, he just doesn’t have the energy to try cooking anymore tonight. He wants something easy, and comforting.

“Pizza?” 

“Excellent idea,” Noctis grins and grabs the dog’s leash. “Let’s walk.”

⁂

“_Ta-da_!”

Prompto presents Noctis with a freshly-baked chocolate-chip cookie on a much-too-large plate—he doesn’t want to get crumbs on the couch.

Noctis pauses his game and takes a bite. Then he makes a face.

“Oh no! Do they suck?” 

Prompto takes the cookie back, and when he bites down, the bitterness hits him like a slap in the face. He thinks he might cry. 

He returns to the kitchen and holds up a spoon for Noctis to see. “Is this not a teaspoon?”

“_Nooo_.” Noctis shakes his head. “That’s just a spoon. Probably technically a tablespoon, ’cause we use it at the table.”

“Oh . . .”

“Did you use that to measure baking soda?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that explains it.” Noctis gives him a sympathetic smile. “We should get some measuring spoons.”

“Yeah.” 

He returns to the couch and sinks in against Noctis. Disappointment washes over him, and as much as he’d like to let it go, he really, really wanted a cookie. Or two.

“It’s okay. Easy mistake to make. There’s too many different kinds of spoons.”

“We only ever had one kind—for eating, I mean.”

“I’m jealous. I used to have to go to these formal dinners with all different forks and spoons, and if you used the wrong one it was a small scandal.”

“_Heh_. Yeah, it must have sucked to have to eat so many courses of delicious food.”

“Hey!” Noctis winces, leaning away from him.

“Sorry.” Prompto pulls him close again. “Just . . . pissed that I fucked up the cookies.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Then Noctis says, “They look good at least. You should stack them up on a plate and take a picture. _No-one will ever know_.”

“You’re right!” Prompto laughs. “Okay. Guess I shouldn’t waste a good photo opportunity.”

Later that night, his followers say the cookies look delicious and that they want to eat them. He doesn’t tell them that actually, they really super don’t.

⁂

Over several weeks, Prompto learns a lot of things. He learns that putting salt in the pot helps keep noodles from sticking together; he learns that it’s a lot easier to get the papery skin off garlic if you smash the clove first; and he learns to save vegetable trimmings in the freezer, so he can make his own stock. Each of these little revelations blows his mind, but the most surprising thing is that he learns all this from Noctis—backseat cooking from across their small apartment. It’s amazing how much he knows, considering that Prompto has never once seen him cook.

One evening, after Noctis tells him he should wait until tomorrow (when the rice is a day old) to make fried rice, he finally says something.

“Do you _actually_ know how to cook? Or are you just way into, like, cooking lore?”

“I do! I’ve heard I’m not that bad at it, even.” 

“Yeah? Prove it.” Prompto raises his eyebrows.

Noctis considers for a moment. Then he says, “Okay. You’re on,” and shoos Prompto out of the kitchen. 

He sits on the floor and Umbra trots over and tips into his lap. He gives the dog vigorous scratches while he watches Noctis work. 

“Whatcha’ makin’?”

“Onigiri.” 

“Yum! I’m hyped!” He squishes Umbra’s face between his hands to give him chubby cheeks, and says (in a voice he only ever uses with animals), _“Umbra did you know Noct could cook?!”_

“Of course he did! He used to come by the restaurant with the notebook.” 

Noctis digs around in the cupboard and pulls out some nori. From the freezer, he retrieves a couple fillets of salmon—a fish he caught himself during their road trip this past summer. 

“Didn’t you get in trouble for having a dog at a restaurant? _Sorry buddy_.” He kisses Umbra on the top of the head.

Noctis looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “No. Never.”

_“Huh.”_

He dunks the plastic bag of fish fillets into a bowl of hot water to quickly defrost them, then he puts them on the cookie sheet, squeezes a lemon over the top with some salt and pepper, and sticks it in the broiler—a part of the oven that Prompto has never once used. Then he pulls two beers out of the fridge and sets the timer on the microwave for six minutes, before sitting down on the floor with Prompto and Umbra. 

A fantastic smell fills their apartment.

When the timer goes off, Noctis pulls out the sizzling salmon and sets it on top of the stove. He leans against the counter and takes a swig from his beer. He looks very pleased with himself.

“Convinced yet?”

“Honestly?” Prompto stands and quickly crosses the distance between them. “I never doubted you.” He kisses Noctis until Noctis pushes him out of the kitchen again.

“Hey,” he protests, still clinging to a belt-loop.

“Let me finish this first!”

“Sorry, it’s just getting so hot in here.” Prompto fails to keep a straight face and succeeds at making Noctis laugh.

“You’re the _worst_.” 

“Clearly I can’t take the heat, so . . .”

“Stop! But yes. Stay out.” Noctis throws a towel at him, and Prompto catches it. 

He drapes it over his shoulders and shimmies to the couch, where he lounges while Noctis works—forming rice balls, stuffing them with flaky salmon, then wrapping them in nori. 

“Okay,” Noctis says, setting fresh beers and a plate of onigiri on the table, “here it is.”

Prompto hops up. “They look so perfect! Lemme take a picture.” He takes several.

“Can we eat now? I’m kinda hungry.”

“Yeah! Let’s eat!”

It’s fucking delicious. Of course it is. Noctis is amazing.

_“’s fuckin’ deliciff,”_ Prompto mumbles through a mouthful of rice.

“Thank you.” Noctis raises his bottle. “To Sania! For saving the fish!”

“To Sania!” They clink their beers together.

“So how come you never cook? You’re really good at it.”

Noctis huffs. “Compared to Ignis?” he challenges, peering over the top of his bottle as he takes a swig.

“_Ahhh_. Fair.” Nobody cooks like Ignis—not even close. 

“Yeah."

“Wait, but. You’ve been living here for awhile now. And we only eat at Iggy’s like, once a week, tops.”

“Well,” Noctis leans back in his chair. “I’m also lazy.”

Prompto laughs.

“So don’t get used to it, okay?” He downs his beer.

Noctis is looking at him with that languid half-smile of his, that always makes Prompto want to jump his bones. He finishes his own drink and stretches his leg up onto Noctis’s chair, running a foot along his inseam. Noctis wraps his hand around that foot and holds his gaze. In that moment, the look in his eyes is enough to dissolve any doubts scurrying around in Prompto’s head about whether this is where his best friend wants to be. 

He reluctantly extracts his foot and stands to clear the table, stacking the dishes in the sink to deal with later. 

Noctis yawns loudly.

“It’s not even late yet,” Prompto protests, grasping his shoulders and shaking him lightly. 

Noctis wraps his arms around Prompto’s back, showing him that smile again as he pulls him into his lap. Prompto takes those lips with his own, in a kiss that’s rich and salty and faintly tart. Beloved, familiar hands are slipping under the hem of his shirt and brushing over long-healed injuries. He runs his thumbs back and forth across Noctis’s scruffy jawline, fingers buried in long black hair. He says a silent prayer of thanks to the crystal or the astrals—whatever mysterious power let him grow this beard while he was away—and another that he won’t decide to follow Prompto’s example and shave it. 

The apartment is warm and humid from the rice cooker and the broiler, and Prompto can feel a bead of sweat traveling slowly down between his shoulder blades. He pulls away, breathless, and Noctis follows him to the couch, near the open window and its blessedly cool night air, where he can really show the chef how much he appreciates him.

⁂

Not for the first time, Prompto regrets letting Noctis talk him into hosting this dinner party. It’s too late to call it off now, though. His roast chickatrice is already in the oven and Ignis and Gladio will be here in 20 minutes.

It’s definitely not yet party time when there’s a knock at the door. He hasn’t even started on the salad.

_“Ahhh,”_ Prompto shouts over the running faucet.

“Chill. I got it.” Noctis gets up to let their friends inside, and Umbra bounds over to join the welcoming committee.

“Sorry.” Gladio passes Noctis a six-pack and crouches to scratch the dog behind the ears. “Meeting finished early. Smells great in here.” 

As he’s untying his boots, Ignis effortlessly slips out of his loafers while balancing what looks like a container for transporting cake. He sets the thing on top of the fridge and tells Prompto it’s a surprise for later. Turns out it’s a good thing Prompto didn’t leave enough time to make the dessert. 

Noctis comes through the kitchen and tries to massage some of the tension out of his shoulders.

“How can I help?”

“Just hang out. Almost done.”

“Okay,” he kisses Prompto’s cheek. “Take your time.”

_“Heh,”_ he wheezes. If Prompto can just keep it together for another fifteen minutes, he’ll finish all three of these dishes and be able to feed himself and his dearest friends. 

Music comes on, and it’s clear that Ignis has connected his phone to their speaker. It’s some kind of haunting jazz with maybe a Galahdian influence, and it’s really good. Prompto breathes deep and listens while he tosses the salad, tastes the potatoes and adds more salt, then tests the temperature of the chickatrice with his new meat thermometer. 

He lays all the finished dishes out, buffet style, on the table. Then they eat in the living room, where there’s more space and better lighting. 

Prompto watches Ignis and Gladio eat—too nervous to take his first bite. Noctis, sitting beside him, bumps a knee into his leg and says, “This is super good.”

“Yeah,” Gladio agrees. “It’s delicious. Good job, Prompto.”

“I must admit, I was expecting you to serve something with a lot of chilis.” Ignis tosses him a warm smile. “But this is a lovely surprise. It’s not easy to make such simple dishes really sing, and you’ve done it.”

Prompto’s heart soars. “Really? You like it?”

“I do.” Ignis takes another bite of chickatrice.

He beams. “Thanks guys!”

Finally, he digs in. The chickatrice is moist and flavorful, the potatoes aren’t too oily or salty, and the salad is fresh and colorful and not overpowered by the dressing. He has to admit that it’s not half-bad.

After they eat, Noctis clears away all the plates and brings out the good whiskey. Ice-cubes crackle and clink against the glasses as he pours everyone a drink.

Prompto takes a sip. The liquor spreads over his tongue and leaves him feeling tingly and nostalgic. “Is it time for Iggy’s mystery dessert?” 

“Why don’t we take a moment to relax and digest first?” Ignis holds his glass up to his nose, and looks pretty happy about what he’s smelling. 

Noctis sets down his drink and turns to Prompto. “Hey, do you remember when you said you’d unofficially marry me?”

“Of course.” Prompto pulls the chain around his neck to the outside of his shirt, revealing the plastic chocobo ring that hangs there with his dog tags. The little engagement ring has gotten roughed up and discolored over the years, but he still wears it every day. “I meant it too. Still would.”

A careful smile unfolds across Noctis’s face. “Good. ‘Cause I was wondering, if maybe you wanted to do that tonight.”

“Wha—” Prompto’s wide eyes sweep the room, and he realizes that Gladio and Ignis are completely unsurprised and therefore in on it. He should have known something was up when he saw how nice Gladio was dressed. Not only is he wearing a shirt, it has a collar.

_“You!”_ He shoves Noctis—who’s laughing at him now—back into the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to do this?! We could have done a whole thing—had better food!”

“And you guys! You _knew_!” He points an accusing finger at Gladio, who holds up his hands. 

“Sworn to secrecy. Sorry little guy.”

With a wry smile, Ignis adds, “And I can’t imagine why.” 

Noctis rocks forward again and takes Prompto’s hands. “We had this nice evening planned—these guys were gonna be here, so I thought . . . why not?”

Prompto squints at him and suppresses a smile, because he still hasn’t answered the question.

“And,” Noctis continues, on the edge of laughter again, “I thought since you were already a _little_ stressed about this whole dinner party thing, maybe it would be better to not mention it . . . to you.”

He has to admit that he’d have been a lot more anxious this week if he had any idea what Noctis was planning. And of course he wants to marry Noctis right now—why wait another second?

Smile rushing back, Prompto says, “I’ve never heard of a surprise wedding before.”

“Well. Now you have.” Noctis grins.

“Okay! Is Iggy gonna do it?” 

Ignis clears his throat. “I would be honored to officiate, but I can’t legally marry you, as Noctis is, unfortunately, deceased.”

“No worries—only we need to know.” Prompto looks at his best friend—his _fiancé?_—and asks, “Should we dress up?” 

They change in the bathroom. Noctis wears his favorite black t-shirt with the suit he was always supposed to wear at his wedding. With the exception of the shirt, it’s the outfit he died in, and it’s what he still had on when he returned to the mundane world. Prompto wears the only suit he owns—the one he had to buy so he could get into the chamber to photograph Parliament.

They look at their reflection in the mirror, and Noctis swings an arm over Prompto’s shoulder and says, “You look good in black.”

“So do you.”

“I’d better.”

“Alright!” Prompto smacks Noctis on the ass and angles for the door. “Let’s do this!” 

They return to the living room to find a wreath of flowers around Umbra’s neck and a matching bouquet on an end-table. (Gladio must have been hiding them in his backpack all night.) The four friends arrange themselves around the room as best they can, to approximate a traditional Lucian wedding ceremony.

Prompto feels absolutely giddy, standing there in his cozy studio, hand-in-hand with his favorite person. Umbra sits at their feet, staring up at them with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Everybody looks so happy.

Noctis lets go of one of his hands, and reaches into a pocket. He wrote vows. Of course he did.

“Prompto,” he begins, locking eyes and taking a deep breath, “you came into my life, and changed everything. Whenever I was with you, I didn’t have to be the future leader of a kingdom. I didn’t have to say the right thing, or use the right stance—or the right fork.” He laughs, and Prompto joins him. 

Squeezing Prompto’s hand, he goes on. “For once, I could just be me. That’s all you ever asked of me. And that’s how I _could_ do all those things I had to do, even when I didn’t want to.” His watery eyes flicker to the paper he’s holding, and he says, “You’re my lighthouse. When I feel lost, you bring me back home to what’s important—to what’s real. I promise to always try to do the same for you—to make sure you know that you matter, and that I love you.”

The corners of Prompto’s eyes are stinging, and his heart is about to burst. He releases a shaky breath, looks down at their entwined fingers, and jokes,“You really know how to make a guy feel under-prepared for his own wedding.” Then he meets Noctis’s gaze again and says, “Noct, you’re the best friend I ever had—and I’m not just saying that because you were my only friend for such a long time, and it’s not because you’re my hottest friend either—sorry guys.” He smiles wide, glancing around at Ignis and Gladio, then turns back to Noctis. 

He has to suck in the tears before he continues. “You believed in me, even—especially—when I didn’t believe in myself. And yeah. You kept me going, too. So, thanks for that. And thanks for sticking with me even when I do stupid shit, and when I say things I probably shouldn’t, and when I grew that goatee, and—” Noctis is giving him a _look_, so he quickly switches gears. “Anyway, I love you, and I promise to never ask you to eat a carrot or a bean, and I promise to be honest with you about how I feel—which is not very easy, actually, for me so . . . you’re getting a really good deal here.”

Noctis whispers, “I know. I am.”

“I mean, me too,” Prompto whispers back. “I’m the lucky one, really.”

Noctis just shakes his head and runs his thumbs over Prompto’s knuckles. He’s radiating pure and genuine devotion, and Prompto is sending it right back to him.

After waiting until it’s clear that they’ve finished exchanging vows, Ignis says, “By the power vested in me by the Republic of Lucis—and completely off the record—I hereby pronounce you married.”

Gladio cheers. Both he and Ignis clap, and Umbra barks excitedly as Noctis and Prompto conclude the ceremony with a kiss and a selfie.

Ignis puts on a playlist he arranged for the occasion and pours himself another drink. Prompto and Noctis sway together, foreheads touching, unconcerned with how stupid-in-love they look. Gladio picks up the dog and spins him around slowly. 

“Put him down, Gladio. He doesn’t want to dance with you,” Ignis chides.

“Sure he does!” Gladio lifts the dog higher into the air.

When Umbra whines, he has to admit that Ignis is right and gently releases him into his favorite chair.

He asks, “Are _you_ gonna to dance with me then?”

“If you insist.” 

Prompto can’t help but gawk when Ignis and Gladio show off all their years of formal dance training. He asks Noctis, “Hey, do you know how to dance like that too?”

_“Maybe.”_

“I had no idea,” he breathes. 

“That’s ‘cause I was always hanging out with _you_ in the photo booth at dances.”

“Such a waste . . .”

“Shut up,” Noctis chuckles into his lips.

Not much later, Ignis reveals his beautiful cake. It’s chocolate, with layers of berry filling and whipped cream, coated in a buttery frosting and decorated with a lush garden of flowers in many different colors of icing. It’s delicious, too—fluffy, creamy and not too sweet. 

As they all stuff their faces and sip coffee, Prompto says, “Thanks Iggy! For this amazing cake, and for officiating.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and thanks again for keeping Noct alive all these years with hidden vegetables!”

Eyes suddenly wide and still chewing, Noctis points at the cake with his fork and asks, _“’s that . . .?”_

With a sly smile, Ignis reclines in his chair and says, “I’ll never tell.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you fandom friends for sharing your cooking mishap stories with me! Credit goes to Kiri ([@NekoAisu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/NekoAisu)) for the spinach brownies!


End file.
